Greenville, PA

U.S. Army, World War II

It’s impossible to understand the strength and courage that enables one to perform in such a way as to merit the Medal of Honor. You might get a glimpse of it by considering the actions of Greenville native Gus Kefurt.

His excellence as a soldier is evident from the fact that barely four months after he joined the army in August, 1944, he was already a staff sergeant in Company K, 15th Infantry Regiment, 3rd Infantry Division in France. That excellence is confirmed by his Medal of Honor citation:

“He distinguished himself by conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity above and beyond the call of duty on 23 and 24 December 1944, near Bennwihr, France. Early in the attack S/Sgt. Kefurt jumped through an opening in a wall to be confronted by about 15 Germans. Although outnumbered he opened fire, killing 10 and capturing the others. During a seesaw battle which developed he effectively adjusted artillery fire on an enemy tank close to his position although exposed to small arms fire. When night fell he maintained a 3-man outpost in the center of the town in the middle of the German positions and successfully fought off several hostile patrols attempting to penetrate our lines. Assuming command of his platoon the following morning he led it in hand-to-hand fighting through the town until blocked by a tank. Using rifle grenades he forced surrender of its crew and some supporting infantry. He then continued his attack from house to house against heavy machinegun and rifle fire. Advancing against a strongpoint that was holding up the company, his platoon was subjected to a strong counterattack and infiltration to its rear. Suffering heavy casualties in their exposed position the men remained there due to S/Sgt. Kefurt’s personal example of bravery, determination and leadership. He constantly exposed himself to fire by going from man to man to direct fire. During this time he killed approximately 15 of the enemy at close range. Although severely wounded in the leg he refused first aid and immediately resumed fighting. When the forces to his rear were pushed back 3 hours later, he refused to be evacuated, but, during several more counterattacks moved painfully about under intense small arms and mortar fire, stiffening the resistance of his platoon by encouraging individual men and by his own fire until he was killed. As a result of S/Sgt. Kefurt’s gallantry the position was maintained.”

Binnwhir after the battle

Jaunary, 1945

S/Sgt. Kefurt was buried at the American Cemetery and Memorial in Épinal, France.

Sharon, PA

U.S. Navy – World War II

The men close to her called her by the sweet and simple name Sara, but she was anything but sweet or simple. Although she was only 16 years old when the war started, Tokyo Rose called her the old lady. She survived nearly fatal wounds at Iwo Jima on February 21, 1945, only to die a most inglorious death after the war at the tender age of 21.

She was the USS Saratoga (CV3). The New York Shipbuilding Company laid her keel in 1920 as a battle cruiser. World War I had just ended, and imaginative military minds were beginning to envision airplanes flying into combat from the deck of a ship. So in 1922 the Navy decided to convert her into an aircraft carrier.

Launched on April 7, 1925, she was impressive by any standards. Displacing 33,000 tons, measuring 888 feet in length and 106 feet at its widest point, her crew of 2,111 could guide her through the water at a speed of nearly 34 knots – that’s about 40 miles per hour.

The first planes to land on her deck were small, slow biplanes, a far cry from the fast and deadly fighters she later carried into combat. While participating in naval exercises before World War II, Sara was instrumental in developing strategies and tactics for a kind of warfare that had never been seen before.

When the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, Sara was in San Diego. She sailed immediately for the South Pacific, refueling in Pearl Harbor before continuing on toward Wake Island.

On January 11, 1942, the Saratoga received her first battle wounds and crew casualties. A torpedo from a Japanese submarine hit her without warning. Six of her crew were killed. She managed to limp back to Hawaii under her own power. She then headed for Bremerton, Washington, on the Puget Sound, for permanent repairs and the addition of improved anti-aircraft guns.

She entered her first intense combat operations in August, 1942, when she launched planes in support of the assault on Guadalcanal. Her planes sank the Japanese carrier Ryujo and damaged the Chitose, a seaplane tender. A week later the Saratoga had to return to Hawaii for repairs after being damaged by a Japanese torpedo.

Sailing from Pearl Harbor on November 10, Sara spent the next year and a half in combat operations in the South Pacific. She provided air support for some of the most legendary island invasions, such as Bougainville, the Marshalls, Eniwetok, and Engebi.

In November, 1943, the Saratoga left the main theaters of the war for nearly a year to participate in exercises with less experienced British and French aircraft carriers. After intensive training, the Saratoga and the British carrier HMS Illustrious conducted very successful attacks on port facilities and oil reserves on Sumatra. In June, 1944, Sara returned to the Bremerton dry docks for repairs.

That’s when Sharon native Harry Jones joined her crew. He had enlisted after completed tenth grade at Sharon High School.

“We lived on Oakland between Hall Street and Oakwood Cemetery,” he said. “When I came home from enlisting, I had to walk up Hall Street. When I turned the corner onto Oakland, my mother was standing on the porch steps. I think I could see the tears coming out of her eyes. I was full of joy yippying and hollering and she felt really bad. I never got over that. She was so sad.”

Jones was supposed complete six weeks of training at Great Lakes Naval Station, but the Navy was so short of men that he spent only three weeks there. After a week’s leave at home, he headed for Bremerton to join the crew of the Saratoga. While the carrier was being repaired, Jones trained to be a plane captain at the naval air station in Arlington, Washington.

When Sara left Washington in September, 1944, headed for Pearl Harbor, Jones found himself in a different world – one with incredible highs and lows.

USS Saratoga underway

“I was out at sea for nine months,” he said, “never saw a pebble, never saw a tree. I’ve been an outdoorsman all of my life. I couldn’t stand it down in the hold. I slept up on the deck right beside the plane. Not all the time, but quite a bit of time. The best time of my life was to see that sun go down in the water and see that moon come up. I tell you, there is nothing in this world could beat that. I enjoyed that every day and every night.”

Well, almost every day and night. There were times when the weather turned a little ugly.

“In a typhoon, I’ve seen that ship roll over to where the side of the ship was running right along the water. I don’t know why it didn’t go right over. That bow would go down under the waves, and the propellers would come up clear out of the water. It was like you were on a roller coaster.”

As plane captain, Harry was assigned to one plane. His job was to maintain it and prepare it for combat operations.

“I spent all my time up on deck with my plane,” he said. “I had to inspect it every day. The checklist had 58 items on it. You couldn’t skip any of them. If that plane just sput when it was taking off, it went right down into the water. Then they only have three minutes to get out of that cockpit before she went down.”

To make sure the plane wouldn’t sput while taking off, he had to get into the pilot’s seat and start it up every day.

“The spark to start it came from something like a shotgun shell,” he said. “You had to rev it up to 1500 rpm to see if it would spit or sputter. Sometimes the plane was real close to the edge of the deck. You would look down and all you would see is water. That thing would be bouncing up and down. You’d look over and think you’re going to take off or fall into the ocean. It scared the hell out of me.”

Harry and his pilot, H. C. Palmatos, weren’t the best of friends.

“He came in one day and said this plane is slowing down. He had me scrub it all down with diesel oil. He said it made it go a couple of knots faster.”

For several months at Pearl Harbor, the Saratoga trained night fighter squadrons and developed the techniques and tactics of night flying. Then on January 29, 1945, she headed out with the USS Enterprise to provide day and night aerial support for the invasion of Iwo Jima.

Jones was thrilled by the sight of the fleet.

“We were in the middle of a fleet of 500 ships,” he said. “Being on top, looking north, south, east, west, all I could see was ships.”

But Jones wasn’t the only one watching the fleet in general, and the Saratoga in particular. The Japanese were watching it, with a focus on the USS Saratoga..

“Tokyo Rose would come on the radio every night and they would play it over the public address system. She would say, ‘We’re looking for you, old lady. We know where the old lady is at. We’re going to get you.’”

On the fateful day of February 21, 1945, Tokyo Rose’s compatriots made good on her prediction. Jones prepared his plane for combat. The pilot, H. C. Palmatos, took off to attack the island. Then, at 1700 hours (5 pm), all hell broke loose. The Japanese hit the Saratoga with the most intense assault of the war against a warship. Within three minutes, they hit the Saratoga with five bombs.

“The first thing they dropped was a skip bomb, then a suicide plane came right after. It made a hole you could drive a semi through, right at the water line. The Saratoga had a closed-in hangar deck. They put a bomb right in there.”

During the fight, which lasted two hours, Sara was strafed with machine guns and hit with seven bombs. Five Kamikaze suicide planes dove into her, their bombs causing huge explosions. Somehow Sara managed to keep afloat and sail away from the battle zone.

The attacks killed 123 men and wounded scores more, including Jones, whose duties required him to be on deck.

“During any attack, most of the crew were assigned to antiaircraft guns,” Jones said. But the aircraft crews were assigned to the fire department.”

While fighting the many fires, Jones remembers running with the bullets from Japanese fighters tearing up the deck on both sides of him. He was hit in the back with a piece of shrapnel.

Two days later, U.S. Marines raised the flag on the top of Mount Suribachi. That is forever memorialized in one of the most famous war monuments in the world. When Sara’s crewmembers see it, they remember their part in the battle. Without setting foot on Iwo Jima, they helped to make that victory possible.

When Jones talks of his worst memories, he doesn’t describe the actual battle. He talks about the aftermath.

Painting of the Saratoga at Iwo Jima

“We stood on deck all day while we buried the dead at sea. That’s the worst thing I had to do in all my life was to stand up there, burying my buddies and friends.”

He also remembers the long voyage back to the United States for repairs.

“You could never get rid of that smell, burnt flesh. You remember it for the rest of your life.”

That was the end of combat for Sara, but not the end of her service. Fully repaired by May 22, she sailed back to Pearl Harbor and resumed pilot training until the Japanese surrendered on August 16. She was then transformed from an aircraft carrier into a magic carpet, bringing veterans back to the United States from the South Pacific. Before the end of Operation Magic Carpet, she had brought 29,204 veterans home, more than any other ship.

After the war, the USS Saratoga was rendered obsolete by larger, more modern carriers. She had one more bit of service to perform, however – not as a hero, but as a victim. In 1946, the United States conducted nuclear bomb tests at Bikini Atoll. They sacrificed Sara to determine the effects of the atomic bomb on naval vessels. She was sunk by an underwater bomb detonated 500 yards away.

To those conducting the testing, the USS Saratoga was an inanimate floating conglomeration of metal that deserved nothing more than to be sacrificed in the name of progress. But to the sailors and airmen who served on Sara, she was a very personal friend and fellow combatant.

Plane Talk, the Saratoga’s newspaper, described that crew on Thanksgiving, 1943: “Aboard the Saratoga we have the gol’darndest collection of farmers, bakers, saxophone players, carpenters, machinists, lawyers, school teachers, insurance men and Texas cowboys that ever assembled aboard a flat-top.”

The paper also summarized their respect for Sara herself: “The Saratoga is more than a ship; it is an idea and a dream. . . . Since the day when the Saratoga first hit the waves until now, it has existed but for one purpose: to protect the freedom to which we as a nation are pledged.”

Sara is at the bottom of the Bikini Atoll, and most of her crew are gone, but her dream, her legacy, deserves to endure. The next time you look at the Iwo Jima memorial, pay tribute not only to those Marines who raised the flag, but also to Sara, her crew, and all the sailors, airmen, and soldiers who helped make that possible.

Greenville, PA

U.S. Army – World War II

Those who deny the Holocaust should talk with the children of Herbert S. Werner. As children, they saw many photographs their father sent home that showed the concentration camps liberated by the 12th Armored Division.

Assigned to the headquarters of the 12th Armored Division as its chief financial officer, Lt. Col. Werner was in a position to observe the Division’s accomplishments, including its legendary combat operations, the capture of Werner von Braun, and the liberation of twelve concentrations in the area of Dachau.

He came to that position through a military career that started when he enlisted in the army in 1917. His first overseas deployment was with the Allied Expeditionary Force in France during World War I. Between the two world wars, he served as a captain in the Finance Corps of the army reserves.

As things were heating up in Europe during 1939, Captain Werner was called to active duty to serve as chief financial officer at the Raritan Arsenal in Metuchen, New Jersey. As the war progressed, the army sent him its Finance Officer Training School at Duke University before assigning him to the 12th Armored Division.

That division entered the European Theater of Operations through Le Havre, France, on November 11, 1944. After fighting its way across France and through the Maginot Line, the 12th Armored Division became the “Mystery Division” of General Patton’s Third Army. To accomplish the invasion of Germany, General Patton assembled thirteen divisions, making it one of the largest American armies in history. The identities of twelve of them were known, while the thirteenth was kept secret to enhance the element of surprise. The identity of that division became known when it crossed the Rhine River on March 24, 1945.

By the time the 12th Armored Division was departing Europe, Lt. Col. Werner was the oldest finance officer in Europe.

Lt. Col. Werner’s daughter, Shirley, also served in Europe, as a switchboard operator in Paris. Once, when her father was in Paris working on a project for the 12th Armored Division, they were able to spend some time together.

“When they went through Le Havre to come home,” said his son Don, “he had to climb the rope ladder up the side of the ship. All the guys knew he was an old guy, by their standards. When he got to the top, they gave him a big round of applause.”

“I never fully appreciated what Dad’s unit really went through during World War II,” wrote another son, Richard. “Now I also appreciate why Dad always loved his 12th Armored Division ring!”

Stovroff, Irwin

Hermitage, PA

U.S. Army Air Force – World War II

Early in World War II, heavy bomber crews could earn their way back home by flying 25 combat missions. In May, 1943, the crew of the Memphis Belle, a B-17 Flying Fortress, became one of the first one to do that. A 1990 movie shows her fluttering back to England after being hit on its final mission.

A year after the Memphis Belle’s last combat mission, Irwin Stovroff was bombardier in a B-24 Liberator on its way back to England from its 35th mission.

“We started off to fly 25 missions,” Irwin said, “then it was increased to 30, and finally 35 because our losses were so high.”

Stalagluft 1

Irwin’s crew wasn’t as lucky as the Memphis Belle’s. His plane went down in France after being hit by flak. Irwin was taken prisoner, loaded into a boxcar, and shipped to Stalag Luft 1 in northeastern Germany.

He survived there only because an American colonel was courageous enough to defy Der Fuhrer.

“Hitler sent out orders for all Jews to be killed,” Irwin said. “Fortunately I had a very demanding, strong, marvelous guy by the name of Colonel Hubert Zemke. He threatened the commandant that he would be a war criminal if we were taken out of the camp. We were segregated, but I was there until we were liberated by the Russians in May, 1945.”

Fast forward again, this time to 1975.

“After I retired, I discovered there was a need to help ex-POWs,” Irwin said.

From an office in the Palm Beach Florida VA Medical Center, he and another ex-POW processed more than 400 claims for ex-POWs. “We got them the benefits they deserved,” he said.

Irwin and Cash

By 2006, the POW work was slowing down, but Irwin perceived another need that had to be filled. There were no government funds for providing service dogs to blind or disabled veterans. So Irwin started Vets Helping Heroes to fill that need.

“I went to ex-POWs and raised $100,000 within three months,” he said.

That was only the beginning. Since then, Irwin and his organization have raised over $3 million. They have placed more than 70 fully trained dogs with veterans who are blind, disabled, or suffering from post traumatic stress disorder.

Working with a number of other organizations, Irwin feels that he is living a dream come true.

“I am approaching 90 years old, and I am a very, very happy man.”

The next time you doubt that misfortune can be turned into good fortune, remember Irwin Stovroff’s odyssey from POW to happy man.

Farrell, PA

U.S; Army – World War II

A lot of people do the strangest things trying to gain respect, but fail precisely because they are seeking it. James C. Lee has gained it in abundance because he didn’t seek it. He just spent his life doing what truly respectable men do.

That wasn’t easy for a black man growing up in the south. But he worked hard to get into college. Then, while in college, he was drafted into the United States Army. At the time, black men were assigned only to all-black units. Well, almost all-black. All officers above the rank of lieutenant were white.

Army life for a black soldier at that time was not just systematically degrading; it could be downright dangerous – right here in the United States. Lee was in the Shenango Personnel Replacement Depot awaiting overseas assignment on the night of July 11, 1943, when conflict a between white and black soldiers ended up deadly.

“I went up the street,” Lee said. “There must have been at least 15 or 25 people killed. The army says like only two or three people killed. But you could see those lying around.”

Assigned to the all-black 2nd Cavalry Division, Lee was sent to Casablanca in North Africa, where the division was dismantled to make up replacement units. Lee became Electrician Foreman in the 1334 Engineer Construction Battalion, which was responsible for furnishing electricity for military hospitals in Italy.

“Allied headquarters would allot me say 40 civilians to do the manual work and things like that,” said Lee, who was a tech sergeant by then, “and I had six NCOs with me that had electrical training.”

Lee worked with his unit all the way from Naples up to the Italian Alps. They were there when the war ended in May.

After the war, Lee returned to Farrell. Despite his outstanding qualifications and electrical experience, he found all doors closed to him because of the color of his skin. Always one to overcome adversity, he opened his own radio and television repair business which he ran successfully until his retirement.

For fifty years Lee has been a dynamic member of the Veterans of Foreign Wars. He has served as post commander, district commander, and many years as quartermaster of VFW Post 7597. The walls of his VFW office are covered with evidence of the respect Lee has earned: countless certificates and plaques honoring his service to his fellow veterans.

Sharpsville, PA

Army Airborne – World War II

There’s a phrase that John Getway of Sharpsville, PA, never uses: “I think I’ll hang around a while.” He actually did hang around – for three days – 65 feet up in a tree in Holland during World War II. It nearly cost him his life, and only his fortitude and excellent physical conditioning enabled him to recover.

As crazy as it sounds, that means he might owe his life to milk. Not to drinking it, but to carrying it. When he was in high school, he got up very early every morning, seven days a week, and delivered milk for Brookfield Dairy (now Dean’s Dairy).

“We used to deliver milk down as far as Sharon High School. And then they would rush back to Ridge Avenue so I could jump off the truck and go into the high school. The janitor would say, ‘Hurry, John,’ and just as I got into my room he would push the button for the bell. So I was never late.”

He left high school in 1938 to work at the dairy full time – until December, 1941.

“Right after Pearl Harbor five of us decided we would go to into the service,” John said.

He was sent to Fort Bragg, North Carolina, for basic training. That was right at the time the first U.S. Army airborne units were being organized. John decided to become a paratrooper.

The training in jump school was extremely rigorous, but John found himself well prepared for it.

“In airborne training, we would go out and walk, then run. They would stop to let the men smoke. Well, I didn’t smoke. One time I said, ‘Sergeant, can I keep double timing all the way up?’ He said ‘Sure, go ahead.’ I ran way up there and sat down on a rock. When the rest of the troops got there, they tired and sweating. The sergeant came over and asked, ‘How the heck did you do it?’ I told him I peddled milk all the time, jumping off and on the truck, summer and winter.”

John was assigned to the 509th Airborne Regiment at Fort Bragg. From there he started an incredible odyssey with one of the most elite units of the army – jumping from airplanes, fighting enemy soldiers in hand to hand combat, wandering in the desert, and even witnessing the eruption of Mount Vesuvius.

It started in mid-1942 when the 509th departed Fort Bragg to go to England. They trained in Scotland, jumping from British bombers because the American planes hadn’t arrived yet. They were the only paratroopers to jump from only 250 feet, which allows barely enough time for the chute to open.

In November, 1942, the 509th spearheaded the invasion of North Africa.They flew over 1600 miles from England to conduct a parachute assault on Tafraoui Airport in Algeria. A week later they made their second combat jump on the airfield at Youks-Les-Bains near the Tunisian border. During subsequent combat operations, John was wounded in the hand while trying to fend off an enemy soldier’s bayonet.

“All we did was put sulfa drugs on it, and they gave me a tetanus shot. It was four days before they could get me to a hospital to check me out.”

During that jump John got wounded several times. Again, it was sulfa drugs, tetanus shot, and keep on fighting. In five days the division pushed forward 150 miles and captured 23,000 prisoners.

After fighting through Sicily, the division landed in Italy and fought northward through Naples. On March 18, 1944, John’s unit was bivouacked about a mile from Mount Vesuvius when it erupted.

“They moved us 20 miles away, but you could still see the smoke,” John said.

Shortly after that the 82nd moved back to England to prepare for the invasion of northern Europe. In September, 1944, they made a combat jump into Holland.

“We jumped at night time, and I landed way up in a tree. I hung there for three days and three nights. My canteen and K-rations were on my back, and I couldn’t reach them. Two little boys saw me. They went back and got their family. When they lowered me down, my legs crumbled because I had no circulation in them for three days.”

John was sent to a hospital in England, then to one in Miami. The physical therapy was difficult, but John persisted. He was there for a year and a half recovering from his ordeal. Part of his therapy involved climbing a rope hand over hand. John could do little at first, but he persisted until he could climb all the way to the high ceiling.

When John came back to Sharpsville, he got a job at Steel Fabricators. After a few years he got laid off, but quickly got a job at Sawhill Tube .

John married Ann Gray on May 28, 1955. While raising their family, Ann worked at Sharon Stationery for 20 years, and John worked at Sawhill for 30 years until he retired in 1985.

For many years John and Ann were active in the General Ridgway Chapter of the 82nd Airborne Division Association, in Dayton, Ohio. They went there two or three times a year for various events. They attended as many of the association’s annual conventions as possible, and helped put on three of them.

Since 1986, they have gone to Fort Bragg for the annual 82nd Airborne Division’s annual review. The most memorable moment for John and Ann came in 2002 at the celebration of the 60th anniversary of the airborne. One World War II veteran was selected from each 82nd Airborne unit that fought in that war. John was chosen to represent the 504th. He rode in the review with the veterans, then stood beside the commanding general on the podium as the Division marched by.

Some of the effects of John’s World War II ordeal persist to this day. He freely expresses his appreciation for the one who took good care of him for so many years, until she passed away on March 6, 2012.

“Some women would turn their back on you and walk away” he said. “But anything that happens to me, Ann knew what to do and got everything done. She was just as good as a nurse.”

Hermitage. PA

U.S. Army – World War II

It may be unorthodox, but John Krofcheck is proud to be called an “S.O.B.” He was with the 100th Infantry Division in France when they captured the heavily fortified Fortress de Bitche on March 16, 1945, after a bitter three-month siege. From that, the division got the nickname “Sons of Bitche.”

That was just part of John’s unorthodox military career. When the 17-year-old enlisted in December, 1942, he became a military policeman in Washington, DC. His most dangerous assignment was directing traffic at the entrance to Arlington National Cemetery. But he wanted to get into the action, so he volunteered for the infantry.

He definitely got his wish for action. With the 100th Division during an intense battle in the Vosges Mountains, his company commander called him forward.

“I was loaded down with the BAR and ammunition, running forward like a dog,” John said. “I’m not ashamed to admit that I was scared.”

He turned to see if his assistant gunner was behind him. He fell into a large shell crater, severely injuring his leg. But he faced his fear and continued on without going to the medics.

John witnessed both the worst and the best that men do under fire. His assistant gunner shot himself in the leg to get out of combat. And John saw Lt. Edward Silk single-handedly assault a German unit that had the Americans pinned down with machine gun fire. According to his Medal of Honor citation, Lt. Silk ran across an open field through intense machine gun fire, took out the gunners by lobbing grenades into an open window, then attacked a second building. When he ran out of grenades, he started throwing rocks. Twelve Germans surrendered to him.

John adds a detail that the citation omits. Lt. Silk’s courage may have been enhanced by some of the contents of his two canteens full of cognac.

In December, 1945, John got out of the army, but that was 18 years before the end of his military career. In 1946, he re-enlisted with the Military Police. He got out again on a hardship discharge in 1948. He helped establish a National Guard unit in Sharon and became its First Sergeant. When the Korean War started, he volunteered for reactivation and went to Korea, where his unit provided security for a quartermaster installation in Ascom City.

After Korea, John served in Fort Leavenworth, Kansas until he retired in 1963.

Sharon, PA

U. S. Coast Guard, World War II

Like many other young men during World War II, John Leyde left for military service in 1943 before his Sharon High School graduation ceremony. It took two years for his diploma to catch up with him through the military postal system.

“I enlisted in the Coast Guard,” he said. “I wanted to go into the Air Force, but at that time they were taking a pretty big beating, so my mother said no way. I said if that’s the case, let me try the Marines. But they were taking a beating in the Pacific. So finally I said to my mother, ‘I’ll join the Coast Guard.’

The image of John guarding the coast satisfied his mother. But it didn’t take long for John to discover that Coast Guard ships didn’t necessarily float around near the shores of the United States.

After basic training, John was assigned to the USS Peterson. This wasn’t a little 65-foot Coast Guard cutter. It was a newly-commissioned destroyer escort.

“It had made just one trip in the Mediterranean prior to my going on.” John said. “They lost a ship with tremendous loss of life. Then they came back to the States. That’s when I went aboard. We went out for a day or two on a shakedown cruise off the coast of Long Island and then went back in to New York.”

The Peterson spent the next two years on convoy duty on the Atlantic Ocean between New York and the British Isles.

“We escorted tankers, and sometimes they would put a troop ship in the middle of all these tankers – maybe 40 to 50 of them. And there were six destroyer escort ships that looked for submarines.”

It was adventurous from the very beginning. After its shakedown cruise, The Peterson was assigned to accompany a newly-formed convoy.

“When they brought the convoy out,” John said, “we patrolled out into the ocean. In bringing these big ships together to form the convoy, two of them collided. One of them was damaged. We were designated to escort that disabled ship back into the harbor.”

A German submarine apparently had been sitting out off the coast for days. It put a torpedo into one of the ships and damaged it pretty bad.

“While we escorted it back, our ships were running all over the ocean looking for this German sub. On our way back out, we ran right over top of it with our sound gear. That just let everything go helter-skelter. Our ship and another ship went on each side of this submarine and dropped depth charges. When they brought it to the surface, we started shooting and he started shooting. The sub put a cannon blast through our smokestack.”

The Germans were able to use a machine gun from the conning tower, but not the gun on the forward part of the sub.

“They were trying to get it manned,” John said. “It was pathetic, really. These young German sailors were trying to get from the conning tower to the forward gun. We were cross-firing with 20mm guns. They never did get it manned because they got blown apart.”

The Peterson didn’t pick up any survivors, but a sister ship did. The submarine captain had been told that it would be easy because the Germans had done such a good job that we didn’t have any ships left.

“He couldn’t believe it when he saw 40 or 50 big ships coming out of the harbor. It was right off the coast of New Jersey. He got a free ride to England and was put in prison camp there.”

The Pete made eight round trips between New York, England, and France. Each took about six weeks. When the war was over in Europe, the Peterson was transferred to the Pacific because the war there was continuing.

“We were tied up in Hawaii just waiting for orders when VJ Day was declared,” John said. “But they still sent us to Japan. There we escorted landing craft which went about six knots. Then we headed back home to be discharged. We had a lot of ammo on board – depth charges and everything else. We were going into Hawaii, and got word to get rid of all our ammunition. So we shot off everything we had. When we got to Hawaii, they loaded us all up again with ammo. Then we headed for California. A day or two out, we got the word again: no ammunition. So the captain, being a pretty good guy, said throw it over the side. We don’t want to have to clean these guns again. We went to Florida and decommissioned the ship in the St. John’s River.”

After the war he took a train to Philadelphia where he was discharged from the Coast Guard.

“I came home and went to work with my father and older brother in the family’s auto parts business. And that was where I worked my whole life.”

John got married in 1948. He and his wife Margaret had three children – John T. in 1950, Margaret Jean in 1953, and Elizabeth Ann in 1955.

John was very active in the community. He served on the school board for 20 years; volunteered for the Community Chest; was a trustee, member of the stewardship committee, and Sunday School teacher at his church; and became the first man to be named Volunteer of the Year at Sharon Regional.

John Meredith

West Middlesex, PA

World War II – Army

After landing on Omaha Beach on August 9, 1944, a month and two days after D-Day, John advanced with the Seventh Armored Division all the way across France – fighting the Germans, building bridges, blowing things up, rescuing other military units, and liberating French cities.

By December, 1944, the American and Allied armies had reached the German border. It looked as if the war was almost over. Then Hitler launched a surprise attack with virtually all of his remaining forces and pushed the line back 70 miles. The Seventh Armored Division was thrown into this “Battle of the Bulge” as reinforcements.

John remembered it vividly: “The Germans sent at us two divisions of 16 to 18 year old kids out of high school,” he said. “They didn’t have any idea what war was, and had no training. They gave them those little burp guns. They thought they were cowboys.”

The Germans weren’t the only enemy. With limited transportation available, the American generals opted to give priority to shipment of ammunition and fuel rather than clothing. The weather turned bitterly cold, with wind chills around 30 degrees below zero. Stuck in summer uniforms, many of the troops – including John – suffered severe frostbite.

Meredith kept different kinds of souvenirs from his World War II combat days until his death in December, 2003. Some were extremely painful, such as the German bullet that could not be removed from his leg. And the extremely painful aftereffects of the severe frostbite plagued him until the day he died.

Other memories more than made up for the pain and suffering, such as the medals he received for his actions. He was also proud of the letters of appreciation sent to the Seventh Armored by the French cities they liberated.

Those letters painted vivid, positive pictures of the army’s swift and efficient advance. The mayor of Verdun wrote, “We shall never forget that in less than one hour you delivered us of our burden, and the rapidity of your advance has avoided the destruction of half of our village by these unchained brutes.”

The French people were also struck with the contrast between those “unchained brutes” and the American soldiers. The mayor of Chateau-Thierry wrote, “All have been struck by the simplicity and the amiability and the cordiality of your officers and men.”

Even after hard-fought battles, the true character of the American soldier still showed through.

Mercer, PA

U.S. Air Force – World War II

During World War II, simply getting to a duty station could be a long ordeal. After being trained as a clerk typist, Joe Thompson sailed with the 54th Air Service Group to North Africa. They camped out for a month before sailing through the Mediterranean Sea, the Suez Canal, and the Indian Ocean to Bombay, India. Then they rode via narrow gauge railroad clear across India to an airfield near Dacca, which was about 50 miles from the eastern border of India with Burma.

“The railroad cars were about half the size of ours,” Joe said. “They were open air, with seats along either side.”

The mission of the 54th Air Service Group was to maintain and repair B-24 bombers that had been converted into tankers to fly fuel into U.S. military units in China.

“There were about 2000 Americans stationed at the base,” Joe said. “They would bring fuel by trucks from Calcutta and load it onto the planes. We had just one runway. About half a dozen planes would take off and land every day.”

Calcutta was about 250 miles southwest of the base.

During the two years Joe was there, they had about three mishaps when planes, fully loaded with fuel, failed to make it off the ground by the end of the runway.

Corporal Thompson, who was the son of a Methodist minister, was selected to be the chaplain’s assistant.

“I did the chaplain’s bookwork, wrote letters and so on,” he said. “If we had deaths in the unit, it was my job to write a letter of condolence to the next of kin. We built a chapel out of bamboo, with a thatched roof. One day a large windstorm came along and blew the whole thing down.”

They even had music in their services provided by a little pump organ.

The main enemy of the troops there was a little “bug” called the entamoega histolytica, which causes amoebic dysentery. Shortly before he left for home, Joe was hospitalized for about a month by the disease.

After two years there, Joe was granted emergency leave to come back home because his father was dying.

“I was flown across India to Karachi,” he said. “As I was boarding the ship, I was notified that my father had passed away.”

Since the war was over, Joe continued on home, arriving in Volant late in December, 1945.